Wednesday, April 18, 2007


After one night in hospital, I'm home again. I'm also sore, swollen, and feeling pretty fucking miserable. Was this time better or worse than the last? It's neither. It's an entirely different kettle of fish. The pain hasn't been as bad, nor has the swelling, but I'm not as strong, emotionally or physically, this time, so I've been thrown me for a six and I'm feeling the effects of having two surgeries in only three weeks.

Those nuts and bolts up top? Held my face together for the past three weeks. I was all groggy and wafting in and out of consciousness while in the recovery suite, when I looked down and saw a specimen jar atop of the sheets and wedged between my feet. "Cool" I thought, before promptly passing out. I have a brand new set now, and as the surgical team decided against the plastic HELL I was expecting and that keeps everything aligned, these nuts and bolts are all that's holding my face on. Puts a whole new dimension to being off yer face, don't it? But did you catch the bit about no plastic?!?? Maximum WOOT!! sportsfans. Absolutely. Also, no wires. WOO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OOT!!

The pain immediately post op was awful, worse than after the first, much bigger operation, and at least an eight on a scale of 1 to 10. By the time I was back in the intensive care unit, it had escalated to a nine, so I had a quiet word to the the nurse, telling her that when I'm in pain, I get very subdued so as to control my reactions and that if I let go, I might become hysterical, so seriously, help? It was really that bad, even after three post op shots of fentanyl that hadn't even touched it. She called in the prof, he wrote me up some more of that fucking paracetamol (acetaminophen, freaks) so colour me amazed when it took the pain back down to around about a five.

The Prof seemed much less austere this time around, probably because of ye olde fuck up from last time, and rather than straight out refusing to prescribe some of that lovely, lovely pethidine, explained that if I wanted to go home the following day, I'd be advised to start a four hourly regimen of IV paracetamol because it would eventually work, except that the nurse wouldn't give it to me until six hours had passed because bla bla something about my liver bla bla. That last two hours sucked, but I made it and the pain eventually subsided.

Also, *yawn*. Christ.

Anyhoo, Daniel was thrilled to have me home again. Poor little mite. His babysitter, K, arrived on Monday morning, and his little face lit up in delight for about the millisecond it took for him to compute that her here = me gone, then his face fell and he hightailed it out of the room and under my desk. He was all smiling and happy in her arms when I left though, the little traitor. Reports too, had that he had a wonderful day in care on Monday, and when I called K on Tuesday morning, I could hear him in the background laughing and playing like he does when he's home with me.

In other Daniel news, he's become a biter. He went through a brief period with the biting a while back, but it passed as soon as it started so until recently, the notes on the daysheet have always been "brilliant day", "happy independent play" "played well with others", "great day" and other variations of the same theme, and my son has been a poster child for happy daycare experiences. More recently though, the notes have been things like "needs his own space", "not wanting to share", "not mixing well", and my inner babel fish got it right because when I asked, I was told, yes, he's biting. Which is a pity because he LOVES other kids and when they start to "not mix well", they get put into Baby Gaol, a play penned area that lets them see the other kids, but not interact closely enough to draw blood. It's been Daniel's turn on the inside today, as he's been observed to try and work out the pattern of his behaviour, and it's strictly that if he ever wants anything any other kid has got, he leans over and takes 'em out with his pearly whites. My homework has been duly prescribed and I have to start taking things from the deebster and saying things like "my turn now" in a happy sing song voice, before handing whatever it is back when appropriate. Also, when he brings on the whine, which is another delightful trait he's been testing out, instead of ignoring him as I've been doing, I'm to address him directly, al la "Daniel, when you stop making that noise, I'll give you your whatever it is you're grousing about". In short, I have to start acting like a parent. I KNOW! WHAT NEXT?!

And does anyone else think it's kind of odd that he's started biting when I'm forced to suck down my (mushy) food because I cannot? Bite, that is.

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